Crumbs of Comfort
by Tristan-the-Dreamer
Summary: “Pray sit down,” Holmes said grandly, gesturing with his spidery fingers. “I shall be glad to, as soon as we are alone,” the client gravely replied. CHAPTER ADDED.
1. Chapter 1

Holmes had not had a case in several months, and he was wasting away. I tried to entertain him, converse with him, but he ignored my attempts: he pored over the papers until his fingers were black with newsprint, as if somehow overnight the words in the agonies might have rearranged themselves into fresh, intriguing news. Though Mrs. Hudson made the most tempting meals she could, and I coaxed and coaxed him, he did not even pick at his food.

One morning when Holmes glanced at the tray and turned back to his thoughts, Mrs. Hudson hesitated in the door. "Mr. Holmes…if you're figity, like, you can eat while you walk about the room. I don't mind a few crumbs on the carpet." She tried to smile.

He didn't appear to have heard, and with a desperate look to me, Mrs. Hudson went downstairs.

Holmes was standing in front of the window, his forehead leaning against the glass—he didn't have the strength or spirit to hold it up.

I went to look up a timetable; perhaps he might be entertained by a day in the country. When I returned, he seemed quite different--he stood as if a current of energy ran through him.

"He's coming to our flat," he whispered, rapidly drumming the tip of his finger against the pane. "He's most definitely coming. And he has some desperate cause. I think…" trailing off, Holmes sank into an armchair, hands folded expectantly. We had not long to wait before a knock came at the door, and a middle-aged man entered, hat in hand and a serious look on his face.

"I have a case for you, Mr. Holmes, if you are not presently occupied."

"Pray sit down," Holmes said grandly, gesturing with his spidery fingers.

"I shall be glad to, as soon as we are alone."

"We are quite alone," Holmes said, rather curtly; "d'you think I have spies at the doors and windows? Now: what use can I be to you?"

"I come from my master, and my orders were that I speak to you and none else," the man continued stolidly, though without venom. "I must request that the doctor leave."

Holmes made a dismissive gesture. "Every profession has its particulars and its mechanics; you can't ask to tinker with the formula I use."

"That's plain, but it's just as certain, sir, that I can choose not to accept your help. No doubt you think me old fashioned and stubborn, but I'm only doing what my employer bids. It's an extremely delicate and complex matter, not a trifle to handle lightly."

Holmes gave his most winning smile, but juxtaposed with his gaunt face, it hurt me. He got to his feet, as the client was not sitting down, and took a step forward, hand extended. "Complex matters are my speciality, Mr. Greene, I rarely disappoint. I assure you," here he paused, and his anxiety seeped through his smile, but only for a moment, "You will be most pleased with our help. Some clients, I have found, do need certain…requirements…to feel easy.

And we can be obliging—can't we, Watson, of course we can oblige. Now your master seems a good and sensible man, it makes perfect sense he doesn't want a stranger hearing these delicate matters. But you see, Watson is no stranger, quite the contrary! He is my intimate friend and I cannot solve cases properly without him, you see, so all we must do is send a quick telegram—very quick, hardly any waiting!—to your master, and—"

"I'm sorry, sir, he would want to meet the doctor in person, and there's no time for him to come. I will look elsewhere."

Holmes raised a hand, the index finger extended masterfully, and I saw his racing thoughts in his eyes. His breath failed, however, and the fingers all curled up like a dying insect.

"Now, Mr. Greene," I spoke up calmly, facing the client, "Mr. Holmes is the best help you could have. It's no hindrance at all to acqience to your needs, and I will retire to my room. It was a pleasure to meet you, good day." I reached out to shake the man's hand, but a brittle, metallic voice halted me.

"No, Watson, you shall not be leaving; I do not accept the case. Good day, Mr. Greene, Mrs. Hudson shall see you out."

"Holmes, let me bring him back," I said, when the man had closed the door behind him. "You must reconsider. I'll run down the stairs, I'll get him back, you need this case," the words tumbled out of my mouth. "I don't mind staying behind this time, it will be quite all right, you need a case, Holmes, please take it. It will do your mind good. Please, Holmes."

He gazed straight ahead of him, drawing a thin breath. "Have you ever wanted a smoke from your favorite pipe, Watson, so much that if you can't use that particular pipe, you'd rather not smoke?"

I made him no reply, for I was in no mood for riddles; indeed, I was beginning to feel irritation and despair come over me. I stepped to the window, twitched aside the curtain and watched with leaden spirit as Mr. Greene disappeared around a corner. "Well, that was a disappointment."

"You wish I had gone, then?"

"Holmes, I said plain as day I wouldn't mind. And when he'd left I told you--dash it, Holmes, now you're going to be filling the flat with your depression, and I don'twant--Holmes, wait!"

"No, I'll be in my room. If I close the door, I fancy the black fog of depression will be contained."

"I'm sorry, Holmes, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it!" I caught up to him, at the doorway.

"Yes, you did mean it, and moreover you were right. I was a fool. Of course I should have gone ahead without you, of course this is a disappointment all round. What was I thinking—I wasn't thinking."

"You were feeling."

"Yes, and a fine place it's gotten me now. Bah! let me by, man, spare me some dignity at least. Go take a walk, fly a kite, write the great English novel."

"I'd rather stay here, actually."

"Watson, I'm going to sleep now, and I hardly need assistance taking a nap."

"Well—what if I made a sort of nest on the floor for you, with pillows? You like that sometimes, don't you. And supposing I bring the tea and toast, we can have a bite before you rest."

The two of us managed to carpet a swathe of the floor in toast crumbs, but Mrs. Hudson merely shook her head with a smile before removing the tray. I adjusted the blanket over Holmes's sleeping form, and returned to jotting ideas for our afternoon plans.

Paperwork, tidying and errands can be done any time.

An intimate friend is once in a lifetime.

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	2. Chapter 2

"Watson, I wish you hadn't dragged me out here."

"Yes, two tickets, please."

"Lord knows I'd rather be napping—I don't ask very much of the world, after all."

"Keep the change, that's all right."

"Are you listening to me, Watson?"

"Yes, I did hear you, but you needed to get out today." I started to put my arm through his, but found he was holding his arm close to his side. "Well, here's your ticket anyway. We have a few minutes to wait, shall we sit down here?"

"Certainly, it looks just as gloomy as any other spot."

We sat and watched the people; I turned my ticket over in my hands, looking away from the station where prices were listed.

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"This is fine, we have the compartment to ourselves."

"Yes, because unlike us, most men are at their jobs."

"Don't be so dreary. We have a whole afternoon to do what we like."

"What I'd _like_ is to be in bed."

I nodded, waiting for a moment before speaking. "I know depression makes you tired, Holmes, but if you just fight against it a little, get outside, it may give you more energy and better spirits." I felt an unexpected lurch in my stomach that didn't come from the starting up of the train. It was the sight of the ticket in Holmes's hand...I gave in and counted up the cost of tickets, feeling the first twinge from canceling an appointment today.

The shillings and sovereigns add up; one, two, three polite but honest clients so far had sought another doctor. If you don't keep up with the times no one is going to give you a hand, there's competition enough. I had yet to thoroughly read through the latest journal. I needed a new thermometer. I needed more hours in the day.

I didn't want these thoughts sullying an otherwise peaceful day. Drawing a breath through my nose, I looked out the window and tried to find birds or deer. A faint sweat stubbornly broke out on my palms. _You're a horrible doctor. Soon enough you'll have a handful of patients, you've made no name for yourself--why must you be so impulsive? This is the height of absurdity: he lost a case for your sake and you're shirking your duties in exchange. Are we going to ruin each other? _And then the most terrible of all thoughts struck me for the first time, and the sweat broke out all over.

I stood and began to pace the length of our car, as the scenery rushed past the windows. I turned and faced Holmes at last.

He looked up at me, tired and vaguely curious.

"Holmes, I admit I've been a fool. You're forty-five, not a child. You possess--you _are_--one of the great minds of our time. Who am I, to think you need me to take care of you? It isn't as if you started getting depressed once I moved in." I glanced about in agitation. "Tch, it's forever until the next stop. I'm going to walk about the train." I was turning away, but his voice arrested me.

"You're correct in nearly all your points, Watson, but I'm afraid you've not yet mastered the art. One of your conclusions has no grounds whatsoever to back it up, as I think you must admit."

"Holmes, I _know _you had bouts of depression before I came."

"It's not as simple as that." His words fell on pressed finger-tips.

"In that case," I said slowly, walking back across the humming floor, and sitting down across from, never taking my eyes from his face, "I was wrong on two points, for I shan't be taking a walk round the train after all. Now, explain what you mean. Are you saying I'm the cause of your depressions?"

"No—that's not what exactly what I meant, Watson. I've always been prone to dark moods: there are a few family photographs in my possession and I look quite morose, even for a five-year-old removed from his toys and forced into a starched suit. I don't know, I seemed to be born with special glasses, invisible glasses that made gloomy things show stronger. Others passed by a dead bird or cat with little notice; I would think of mortality and suffering the rest of the day, until I couldn't eat. I never tried to be gloomy. It was simply...a part of me." He paused for a time, resting his chin on his gloved hand.

I looked out the window at the blurring foliage; we would arrive at a stop in roughly ten minutes. I wondered where we were going.

"So, no, you didn't cause any fluctuation in my moods. They were there already. Yet—well, you're not surprised, are you Watson, to know I was a solitary fellow? I had a few childhood friends of course, playing skittles and other games children are fond of. Nothing permanent though, just shallow childhood games. And besides Trevor, you know how it was in college, I told you that before. Mostly kept to myself."

"But…but what does this all…have to do with anything?"

"Yes, to be sure, I must not ramble," Holmes murmured. "Should you choose to collect an anthology of depressing and gloomy poems, Watson, you would perhaps be surprised to find what an assortment of flavors depression comes in, like a distasteful box of allsorts. In fact…you might do a medical monograph. But in a word: when I was younger, I tended more to the distant and intense depressions of isolation. I didn't want anything, I only felt vaguely uncomfortable, like a turtle with a wrong-size shell. But—well, when we decided to lodge…"

"Something changed?"

He peered out the window on my side. "Shall we get off at the next stop?"

"Well--I—are you hungry?"

"Not much, no."

I looked at my watch as he fidgeted about. "Well all right, we'll get off next stop. We can have a walk, there might be some gardens. Nothing like nature's beauty to soothe the soul. Visual music, you might say?"

"Hm." He pondered. "Yes, I suppose."

I waited eagerly for him to pick up his story, but he said nothing more and by the time we stepped off the train, rain looked to be a strong possibility.

As I had hoped, there was a park nearby and we had a leisurely walk among the flowering trees. By now the sky was growing near slate colour, and the pale blossoms bobbing in the wind and showing so stark against the scudding clouds was a rather fantastic sight. Holmes seemed stimulated by the energy around us, and I was glad to hear him laugh when a gust knocked off his hat and we went sprinting after it.

He looked up at me, after he'd pounced on it; the wind was at his hair and he had bits of grass on his knees, and he was still laughing, a bit of colour come into his pale face. We went everywhere our feet took us that day, and over lunch he promised to show me those family photographs later, and I think by the ride home I had a new pair of glasses, invisible; they showed me that when a creature sheds its shell, to find a better one, it may be frightened at times--as anything would, when it realizes how large a world there is outside his shell.

And yet what a beautiful world.

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End file.
